House of cards

Twice in as many days I have seen him and twice in as many days he has lingered on my mind. This 6ft 1", not so strapping derelict young man named Germaine. Patrolling the streets with his bare feet, tattered clothes, unkempt hair - a seemingly common disposition for the extremely indigent, and some what mentally obscure people; whom we refer to as vagrants.

But Germaine bothers my mind because he is my contemporary. I recall very little about him - only that he was (and at last check, still) from Foolachaux (guaranteed that spelt incorrectly) and at school, he was bigger than the rest of us, and perhaps by default a bully; he was not much for sharing his sixty and luncheon meat - to the extent that he would gather up from as deep inside him as possible the hugest most disgusting phlegm and release it into the bread with much velocity, of course our stomachs would be too twisted from repugnance to even think of asking for the bread at that time.

In almost two decades, that is the memory I hold of Germaine, and am reminded of it every time I see him. I look at his face, burnt by the sun and colored by dirt, vacant; no hope or faith in a creator whom it seems has long abandoned his cause - I watch him take each step with the anticipation of the pain of placing his callous foot on the hot pavement; and I feel pity for him. Then I remember the bullying and the determination to be selfish, and the wicked, mean spirited imp in me says - that's what you get. I hasten to add that for my other classmates who remember him and his vile acts may have had similar thoughts. Like many of my fellow homosapiens, I possess good and not so good qualities, hence the thought that he deserves it. But no one was placed on this earth to suffer - we have, only of our own making.

What contributed to this young man becoming the derelict he is now? What happened along the way in the years I had not seen him? And it got me thinking. We sit so comfortably and some times smugly in our little lives and judge people for who they are, what they do or have done - we judge from our own criteria, everything else being questionable. Why? And this is in no way giving credence to criminal behavior - but even that has it root, not easily unearthed. Does it make us feel better about ourselves when we judge - because we are not "them", not "these people"; does it bolster that little egotistical drive of self-importance.

Yes we all have standards, values, beliefs (most of them not our own; not developed through free thinking, but rather the dogma, our inheritance) - and in an instance they can all be shaken; one poor decision, action, inaction, misjudgment, misunderstanding, can send our ostensibly stable world crashing down around us like the house of cards it is. We should be more grateful that we have been able to keep our heads above water and avoid the many pitfalls and landmines that are synonymous with life - and less concerned with pointing the accusing and judgmental finger to those who have been unable to. But life without pitfalls to climb out from and dust ourselves off of would not be so worth living. They build character, or so we have been told.

These indigent and derelict people have purpose, if not for themselves, for us - they are a gently reminder, that we are not vastly different; it only takes one event to set in motion the disaster that will become the rest of your miserable existence on this earth. It might be you that I give that pitiful glance or it might be you giving it to me (maybe you already have) - but at such time, I, like you, would be oblivious to pity, judgment or any other self-righteous feeling.

The irony is, Germaine, has not a fraction of my worries or commitments and may very well pity me when he sees me walk by in the hot sun with my monkey suit, or when I drive by in my car for which I must pay a loan monthly.

It begs the question, who should pity whom?